


G is for Genuine

by PepperF



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-04
Updated: 2010-01-04
Packaged: 2017-12-09 20:13:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/777541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PepperF/pseuds/PepperF
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Is it genuine?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	G is for Genuine

**Author's Note:**

> For sg_fignewton's Vala Alphabet Soup.

"Is it genuine?"

Vala Mal Doran – or, for today, Lady Sharmusi sin Bargry-Monicanre – straightens her posture slightly, just enough to suggest aristocratic outrage. She shoots a look down her imperious nose at do-Smosta, who ducks his head and holds out his hands placatingly.

"I mean no offence, my lady," he says, his knowing glance touching her fleetingly. He thinks he can read her. He thinks he can see past the aristocratic exterior, the paint and the ribbons, to the desperate poverty beneath. But he's wrong – or partly so: the desperation is real enough, but not because of money, or her lack thereof. What she is really trying with all her control to hide is her need for speed. If she doesn't get off this godforsaken, backwater planet soon... "But even a humble trader such as myself must take care to... receive a fair price."

The irony is, the price is far from fair – to her. On any civilized planet, she could have bought his whole ship, crew and all, ten times over for this little, jeweled trinket. It's not merely a rather gaudy and tasteless ornament: it is _technology_. It is power, and knowledge, and if she'd had some other valuable to trade, or time enough to steal something – anything – else, she would never have thrown it away like this. If do-Smosta – the greedy, distrustful fool – had even half a grasp of what this could do when fitted into the right kind of engine, she could have made him beg for it. But she does not have time, and he understands less than he knows. do-Smosta sees only the materials of its manufacture, the gold and pretty jewels. He may even have it melted down. She could almost cry at the waste.

"You insult me, do-Smosta," she says, warningly. She closes her hand over it. "I may see what the next ship has to offer." Not that she will. She needs passage off this rock, she needs it now, and his was the only ship ready for takeoff, the engines turning over even as she sauntered slowly past. Nonchalance has been a hard-learned lesson, but she can't give him any reason to suspect that her skin may be more valuable than this bauble.

"Wait, wait, my lady," he says, tone honeyed. "Don't be hasty. I'm sure we can come to some arrangement." He purses his lips. "Passage to Jarshonus, eh? It's possible, of course. Possible. It is a little out of our way, but not by a great deal." He shakes his head. "But fuel, though – fuel is so expensive in these hard times."

"This will more than pay for the cost, as I am sure you're aware." She lets her eyes wander, looking bored, and in his attempts to catch his captain's attention, a crewmember stood at the top of the ship's ramp catches hers, instead. "Is your man signaling for you to hurry?"

do-Smosta glances up irritably, and waves the man back into the ship. The man gives a gesture that efficiently conveys, ‘Well, don't blame me if the engines overheat and explode, then,' and disappears back into the cavernous dark of the ship. do-Smosta looks back at Vala, and she gives him a bland smile.

"Passage to Jarshonus," he says, finally. He reaches out, impertinently plucking the trinket from her fingers. "Very well. But I will have my people examine this on the way – just as a precaution, you understand. If it is not genuine..." The threat is left unfinished, but she understands. If it is not genuine, he'll space her – or worse. 

"It's genuine," she says, firmly.

\---

"Is she genuine?"

Even on the edge of disaster, the villagers are looking at her with distrust. She has visited here before – back when her body was just another suit of clothing for a snake – so it's perhaps understandable. They trust Daniel, of course, despite the fact that he arrived with her, and that he's done nothing but give them bad and worse news. She's not even surprised by that any more. It's just a gift he has. Hell, even she trusts Daniel, despite many hard lessons in the folly of belief.

Daniel looks at her. She shifts urgently from foot to foot, giving him a glare as he pauses for a long time. Yes, it means trusting her to weigh his life and the lives of these grubby people above a quite unholy amount of treasure – but it's not her fault that she's the only one here who can use the Goa'uld-locked controls. She didn't _ask_ to be an ex-host, and she didn't _ask_ for the previous incumbent – the one who took over after Quetesh was beaten and extracted and killed, and her host was beaten and spat upon and exiled – to leave this ridiculous trap. But if Daniel doesn't assure these people that she is indeed for real, and persuade them to let her get on with rescuing their collective asses, they are all going to _die_.

She says as much with her expression. Daniel still hesitates. Damn him. The villagers look between them, faces falling. 

"Daniel," she says, sweetly. "Won't you tell these nice people that I have only their best interests at heart?" Daniel bites his lip. "Daniel, darling, I don't mean to rush you, but you are aware that the countdown is already halfway through?"

The villagers begin to murmur angrily. Well, at least they'll all perish in a fiery explosion of doom before they have time to take their vengeance out on their ex-god's ex-host, Vala tells herself, trying to be philosophical. But it's such a _waste_ of a perfectly good life...

"She's genuine," says Daniel, quietly. The villagers exchange glances. Daniel looks at them, and says, loudly and with more confidence, "You can trust her." He steps forward, and they move back, allowing a little space, which grows to become a path. The murmurs don't abate, but they are willing to trust her at last. Vala discreetly rolls her eyes. _Villagers._

"Well, it's about time," she grumbles, as she strides past him toward the controls.

"You're welcome," says Daniel, mildly.

She pauses, and looks back over her shoulder, amusing herself by making his brows draw together in a suspicious frown when she throws him her most _genuine_ smile.

\---

END.


End file.
